Exit interview

Set 'em up Trainor

[A toney bar in Northwest Washington, maybe the Old Ebbitt Grill. There’s no one in the place except a young BARTENDER wearing black slacks, a white shirt, and a surgical mask; a GUARD at the door, dressed and masked similarly; and STEPHANIE GRISHAM, until recently White House Press Secretary, in a slinky purple cowl neck dress, sitting at the bar. She has just drained a wine glass.]

GRISHAM: Hit me again, Trainor.

BARTENDER: All right.

[He refills her glass with red wine.]

GRISHAM: I knew it couldn’t last forever. He’s like a child, you know. All men are, if you don’t mind me saying so. Sorry, I’ve been married twice, I know whereof I speak.

[She drinks.]

He’s like a child, he always wants something new, something exciting. That’s why everything’s such a clusterfuck. He has to do this virus thing every day and he gets bored and he says shit to make it interesting and it gets in the papers.

[She drinks.]

If he’d just let me —

[She grins ruefully, holds up her pointer finger.]

If he’d just let the Office of the Press Secretary do what it’s supposed to, it’d make a big difference, a biiiig difference. People like me know how to handle those fucking reporters.

[Makes a backhand slapping gesture, knocks over her wine.

OH SHIT!

[BARTENDER grabs the glass, sets it further down the bar, starts wiping the bar with cloth.]

BARTENDER: It’s okay. There wasn’t much in it.

[BARTENDER replaces her glass, refills.]

GRISHAM: I’m surprised it didn’t break! Geez. Well thanks, Trainor. Here’s to you, Geez, I’m keeping you busy.

[She drinks.]

But he has to change things up. That’s all. Not something to take personally.

[In an exaggeratedly confidential manner:]

He likes blondes. Maybe he thinks she’ll fuck him. Or maybe it’s just the fantasy, maybe the idea that he could. Like with that Heather Nauert? Who was in there for a hot second and I do mean hot?

[BARTENDER shakes his head.]

Well, you didn’t miss anything. But he was always smiling at her, standing too close. She knew how to work it. But sure enough, one day she was out the door. Boom.

[She drinks. Musingly:]

I wonder what would have happened if I’d — tried a little harder. I’m a hard worker, you know, I was raised that way. I do my work and — that’s it, I work, I work all the time. I work hard and I play hard! But what if in addition to working, I worked it? What if I did. I can work it. Sure I can. Kayleigh’s young and blonde and weighs about six ounces but she doesn’t have knockers like these.

[She feels herself, laughs.]

Right? You know I’m — hey I'm not offending you, Trainor, am I? Am I —

BARTENDER: No.

GRISHAM: Because with that mask I can’t tell if you’re smiling.

BARTENDER: I’m smiling.

[She drinks.]

GRISHAM: What if I let him know he could put it right in the sweet spot if he wanted to, huh? What do you think he’d do? It’s not like he doesn’t have free time. And it’s not like I was doing press conferences. [Laughs] You gay, Trainor?

BARTENDER: No.

GRISHAM: WHOA JACKPOT! [Laughs] Got a girlfriend?

BARTENDER: I do, yes.

GRISHAM: [Makes a deflating noise] Well, tell her I said hi.

[She drinks. There’s an unlocking noise at the door. The door opens and sunlight floods in. GRISHAM shields her face.]

Goddamnit it, what the hell?

[We can just make out the person who came in showing the GUARD a pass, the GUARD nodding and closing the door behind. The person comes forward and we see it’s KAYLEIGH McENANY, the new White House Press Secretary, carrying a powder blue Prada Sidonie shoulder bag and wearing a snug, dark blue sweater, a short pleated skirt, and saddle oxfords.]

McENANY: Hi, guys! Is this seat taken?

GRISHAM: Bitch!

[GRISHAM flies at McENANY and they pull each other’s hair and scream as the men circle uncertainly and “Yakety Sax” plays in the background. CURTAIN.]